The Redaction Chronicles

Chapter 6-1

The call connected to the Security Police headquarters. A series of clicks as the operators switched the plug from one port to the other, a crackle and then a voiced rumbled, “Hello?”

“This is Deakin, from the American Embassy, can I speak with Major Koroma please?”

“Hello, Mr. Deakin, I am Major Pierre Koroma, how can I help you today?”

“Major I am told that you are the man I should speak to. You can make things happen. I am speaking here on a matter of urgency and discretion. You know which organization I work for, I assume?”

“Of course, Mr. Deakin, we have great respect for your organization,” said Koroma smoothly.

Yeah, plus you like our money too much, thought Deakin. “Major, it appears that you have something of ours. One of our people who was, I assume, mistakenly arrested. Your security people obviously didn"t know who he was. We would like him back, please.”

Yeah, plus you like our money too much,Deakin heard Koroma let out a long sigh. “Mr. Deakin this is a very disturbing state of affairs and something that General Mobutu would take very seriously, despite our cordial relations with the American Embassy. We are not keen on foreign agents operating on our soil.”

“Nevertheless, Major, he belongs to us and we would like him returned.”

“Mmm, that is difficult. I am a soldier, Mr. Deakin, I work directly for the General, but those security police animals, whilst being under his control are a law unto themselves. I am not sure how much influence I would be able to have over them,” said Koroma.

Deakin sensed they were about to reach an impasse. He knew the play; every spy, gambler and hard-headed businessman did. They were angling for a deal; it was just a case of what deal they wanted. “Major, can I just cut to the chase. I"m a very busy man, but I think I"ve found a solution that could benefit everybody.”

“Really?”

Got you, thought Deakin. He had pricked Major Koroma"s interest, now it was time to reel him in. “I can offer you five thousand US dollars for the safe release of our man.” Deakin heard the laugh. In truth, he was expecting it.

Got you,“Mr. Deakin, five thousand would not even cover the costs incurred by the security police officials involved, it is—”

“Excuse me, Major, but I had not finished. Thank you. As I was saying, five thousand for the release of the prisoner, plus we are in a position to hand over to you your biggest political rival. I think you know who I mean.”

The silence was palpable. Deakin drummed his fingers on his desk. Come on, come on…

“I know who you mean. But Mr. Deakin, Lumumba is under house arrest. He is already in our custody, of a sort,” said Koroma.

“Major, we have information that suggests he is planning to flee the Prime Minister"s residence, make his way to Stanleyville and raise a counter-force.”

There was a moment"s silence on the line as Koroma weighed up whether the American was yanking his chain. “So, at last, the snake shows his true colors… treason it is, then.”

“Indeed. However, we have an agent on the ground who can deliver Lumumba directly to you during his "escape." ”

“I see, and when is this to happen?” asked Koroma.

“Within the next twenty-four hours. We will take care of all the arrangements. I will telephone you directly with a time and a location for the rendezvous. You, in return, will contact the security unit that has our man in custody and inform them of our deal.”

Koroma pondered this, desperately trying to figure out the angles. Was this American playing him for a fool, or would he get the chance to be part of the capture of a traitor? “And then?” asked Koroma.

“One of our operatives here will hand over Lumumba, directly to you personally. You will give him the location of our imprisoned agent; he will pay the guards directly and retrieve our man.”

It sounded plausible, thought Koroma. “And we can trust you on this?”

It sounded plausible,Deakin laughed. “You"ll have to. Just wait for my phone call.” He hung up. Leave them dangling, he thought to himself, always leave them dangling.

Leave them dangling,always leave them dangling.* * *

On the first day of December, the assassin sat comfortably in the rear of the Lincoln limousine and watched from the window as the streets of Leopoldville passed by.

The man was grey-haired, with a beard to match, and wore a thick pair of spectacles that covered most of his upper face. His suit was tailored and expensive. He had in his pocket a passport that identified him as one Jose Silva, a Portuguese diplomat who was assigned as a liaison official with the United Nations. The other item in his pocket was a signed personal letter to Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba from UN Secretary-General Dag Hammerskjold, stating that he wished his friend well and that he was offering his utmost support, both political and moral, in these difficult times.

Of course the wig, beard and glasses were nothing more than stage make-up supplied by the CIA station officers. The passport and letter were also forged, once again provided by the paper experts of the Agency. Marquez knew that the work which had consumed the last month of his life would be finished within a matter of hours. He had played the game out to its natural conclusion, and barring a few detours along the way, it had pretty much gone according to plan.

They were minutes away now from the Prime Minister"s residence and he patted himself down, making sure that everything was in place. He could see the UN soldiers manning the gates and he reached inside his jacket for his passport.

A soldier stepped forward and motioned for the driver to wind down the window. Marquez leaned forward and offered his papers for inspection; the soldier crouched down and peered in, his eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom of the interior. His eyes flicked from the passport to the man sitting in the rear of the car then back to the papers again. He handed the papers back, saluted and waved the car through the main gates. The car drove up to the main entrance and Marquez stepped out to be greeted by Kivwa. They shook hands like old friends.

“Welcome, Senor Silva,” said Kivwa, playing out the charade for the guards to clearly hear. “Come in and have some refreshments, Samuel, go and park the car around the side.”

The two men disappeared inside while the chauffeur reversed the Lincoln and steered it around to the servant"s entrance where the car could not be seen. No sooner had the car stopped than Samuel had gotten out and opened the rear passenger door. A figure quickly moved in a crouch from the servants" door to the back seat of the Lincoln, a fleeting glance, no more, and then the door of the car was slammed shut and the figure covered itself with the thick blanket which had been provided. The heat was stifling underneath it, but he knew he only had to endure fifteen minutes or less until his escort was due to exit from the front entrance.

Fifteen minutes later, the Portuguese diplomat shook hands with Patrick Kivwa on the steps of the residence. Underneath his breath Kivwa whispered, “Good luck, just get him out of the damned country and to safety.”

Marquez looked the man in the eye and nodded. Almost there… almost there…

The Lincoln pulled up and Marquez got in. The subterfuge had worked and the limousine ambled calmly past the UN guards manning the compound. “Just keep driving at a steady speed until we are out of sight,” Marquez ordered Samuel. He saw the young man nod his understanding in the rear view mirror.

“Thank you Lucien, your assistance and bravery will not be forgotten in the new democracy,” said Lumumba. The man sighed and relaxed back into the seat, confident he had outwitted his enemies.

“Get some rest Mr. Prime Minister, we have only a short drive to the escape plane,” reassured Marquez, as he began to remove the glasses, wig and false beard glued to his face.

The drive continued out of the city for a further half an hour with bright streets giving way to dark roads. The time was nearly right, thought Marquez, only a few more moments to the rendezvous. He was aware of Lumumba speaking to him again. The time for the charade to end was nigh.

The time was nearly right,only a few more moments to the rendezvous.“What will you do once I am in Paris, Lucien, will you perhaps visit or be a part of…”

In one swift movement Marquez had grabbed Lumumba"s head and was forcing it down to the floor with one hand while with the other he pulled out the Colt.45, pressing it to the man"s temple. “Down, down…down on the floor! Try to fight and I will shoot! Get DOWN! Quiet!”

Lumumba was no fool and knew better than to argue with an armed man. He slumped into a sullen silence.

“Keep driving for another half a mile, you"ll come to a fork in the road. That"s the rendezvous; the collection party will be waiting for us,” Marquez ordered Samuel. The driver, to his credit, kept calm and guided the car along the dirt track for another few minutes. Then slowly from out of the darkness the silhouette of several military jeeps and wagons began to appear. They flashed their lights in recognition and the driver of the limousine beeped his horn to complete the code.

The limousine slowly pulled to a halt, the driver aware of the soldiers with their fingers on the triggers of their weapons. A man stepped forward, large, in command, his outline cast against the glare of the truck"s headlights.

“I am Major Pierre Koroma.” His voice was a deep basso and rumbled. He stood composed and confident; one hand wavering near the pistol he wore on his hip. He was military, through and through.

The door of the limousine opened and Marquez dragged out the terrified Lumumba, the g*n still pressed against his temple, and forced him onto his knees between the two groups.

“Hello, Patrice,” said the man and then waved a hand for unseen shadows to take the deposed Prime Minister away. Marquez stepped back as the guards grabbed the fallen man. He didn"t even look at the doomed prisoner. For Marquez, the target was now a thing of the past, a burden he had put aside.

“I have been asked to pass on our thanks on behalf of General Mobutu,” said Koroma.

“Thank you.”

“The General says that he is in your debt for this service. He says if there is anything he can do for you in the future, he will consider it an honor to help.”

The noise of a scuffle broke out from the rear of the trucks. Marquez assumed that the ANC soldiers were having fun with the deposed politician, fun involving punches, kicks and rifle butts no doubt. Marquez turned back to Koroma. “I will remember the General"s kind words. It is always useful to have a patron as wise and powerful as the General. I thank him.”

Koroma nodded. It was good that this foreign spy should show proper respect to the General. “That is good. I also have the other piece of information that you wanted, about the k********g of your "friend". ”